4 February 2012
Friday night at 10pm
Camden Town Hookers in London

Content Note: Vampire stuff

A fog rolled through London. Waverly Roh-Ballentyne walked alone like a queen, wearing the posture she wanted to feel. She wanted to own the street and glide scary and untouchable. Her hair was down and she wore Slytherin green on her lips. Camden could look like a carnival some nights, with lights and hanging signs - but her path took her off the commercial streets into a canal-width neighborhood. The lights from the windows advertised nothing but families resting at home. Virgil Carstairs probably would have told her if she’d asked, but the bartender at the Closet knew where to send her, only if she promised not to spread it around. That was no problem; Waverly dealt in secrets.

And then there it was, suddenly, like other places enchanted to hide from muggles. You felt like you’d glanced right over it, but there it was. It was three stories and looked old. Heavy wooden double-doors with flaked gold letters spelling out Camden Town Hookers.

Waverly, a living breathing witch,  felt conscious of her heartbeat and almost felt like she could feel her blood pumping into her neck and fingers. Instead of letting her gut ache with nerves, she breathed and let it flow into her arms. She’d let it ride. Other people did this. So could she, nineteen, lovely, and not afraid of anything.

She’d promised herself she’d cut if things went too far, but if she left without … she’d be disappointed. Maybe that’s why she’d gone alone, so she could do exactly what she wanted without worried eyes or shoving hands.

After she checked over her shoulder, she went in.

Inside it was old, too, and smelled of tobacco smoke. The bar was full as well of most of the tables. The billiards table was occupied. She didn’t stand and stare like a tourist, but walked slowly across the space to a narrow space at the corner of the bar.

She noticed the mirror. Then she noticed again. Through the glass, bar was half-empty. Despite herself, she turned around to check the flesh again: well populated.

Wicked… She smiled, delighted, thrilled. She turned back around. The people on either side of her weren’t human. And neither was the bartender.

So ‘wicked’ was her first thought. Her second was, ‘what the hell do I do now?’ Whatever anyone did at a bar, she resolved: order a drink. She leaned forward, happy for her height, to draw the bartender’s attention.

It was early yet, for Hookers, though the bar was busy enough on account of how early the sun went down in winter months.

Your usual thrill seekers and curious innocents, and a scattering of more regular patrons. People were lighting up cigarettes and rolls of gillyweed if they weren't squeezed into booths with their drinks. Anything to boost their courage. Most of the groups had a couple of vampires amongst them; coven members keeping busy or trying to gauge if anybody was serious about parting with their blood. Terry himself was sat at the bar amongst the solo drinkers, chatting with Jin-ho and playing a game of black jack.

The new moon was a distant threat[1] and the ambience appeared to be generally relaxed, unhurried. None of his kind felt particularly parched.

            "You have the devil's luck, Terry." Jin muttered dryly, folding his hand of cards.

"Only fair, seeing as how you got his bloody face," the older vampire shuffled the deck and glanced aside as a couple of blood liquors were slid across the counter. "Thanks," he winked at Anaïs, who was on bar duty tonight.

Behind him, a pretty little witch had drawn up to the bar and was trying to catch Ana's attention. He looked over his shoulder at her, then back at Jin. The men exchanged amused smiles while the next round of Black Jack was dealt. It was usually Saturday night they got the fresh ones. You could smell the youth off them, only a couple of years past reeking of chalk and stale sweat and Hogwarts-approved ink.

           "What can I get for you, luv?" Ana asked the witch. At the same time, Jin leaned in to propose a wager. "Play you for this one?"

Terrence grinned to himself, checking his cards thoughtfully. "You're on."

1.	22nd February

Oh. Waverly felt seen. It prickled the back of her neck, and she thought she felt someone brush against her hair. Half of the fun was walking into a club and getting eyes, even dressed down she was tall and took up space. People came up to her, not the other way around. But the vampire bar, this was different. Each niche's attention was paid inward, so why was she still getting eyes? She was being watched without being watched. Waverly, liver of life, daughter of warriors, had been clocked as fresh.

She was distracted by this feeling when the bartender got to her. She nearly startled but masked it with a sigh and a little smile. House red, she thought daringly.

"Classic Sazerac," she said. She'd learned it her seventh year in school when she and the others had snuck some booze into the dungeons, including absinthe which wasn't nearly as exciting as had been foretold. She still liked the sound and taste of it. The bartender glanced away, just for a moment and Waverly stepped backwards to follow her gaze. She was almost too late to catch it, but it was two men played cards around the corner of the bar.  Vampires. They were older - older than they looked, she reminded herself. They all would be. They were ... pretty enough, but maybe she liked the bartender better. Fuck, she thought. How did this work? Not that Virgil would have known; he'd been ambushed into it.

She smiled again at the bartender and muttered a, "thanks." As she took off her coat, she turned to watch the room. She scanned each booth in turn. Muffled laughter, old music, cards, dark drinks, couples and trios and small groups sitting close, leaning close. On first glance one couple sat side by side tucked far back, doing what people did. Waverly's breath caught in her throat.  He was buried in her neck. She had her head tilted back motionless. Waverly watched, each second passed slowly, until the woman finally moved. Smiled in drunken bliss.

Waverly looked to the group around the wireless, feeling like she's seen something she shouldn't. She let out a low slow breath and continued her scan of the room. If she was being watched, she'd watch back.

            "What did I tell you?" Jin shook his head, cards going down.

"Yeah yeah, devil's luck." Terry shuffled the cards back into a single deck and smiled to himself as he glanced over his shoulder at the bird they'd both been checking out. "You going to make yourself scarce, mate, or...?" he didn't even have to look back to sense the other vampire slipping off the stool with an effete shrug. Fair was fair after all - and there would be others, tonight, looking for their share of thrills and chills. Jin-ho preferred the boys anyway.

He made a gesture with his hand, trying to catch the witch's eye. There was something about the way she cast her eye about that made the girl's intention obvious to anyone who'd seen a hundred of her kind strolling into places like this.

She wasn't only here to look. She was here looking.

Hooker's mouth widened into a grin once he'd gotten her attention - his teeth flashing white, fangs just showing. He leaned against the bar counter and nodded subtly to the chair Jin had just vacated, though his eyes never left hers. Come on, then. Let's play a little.

It didn't take long for Waverly to feel Terry's gaze. She waited an extra second to be sure. The seat beside the dark vampire was empty now and there was no mistaking it - an invitation.

Waverly pushed away from the bar and hooked her coat over her shoulder. She wasn't going to be bloody coy about it. She hadn't come to play safe. She regarded the long-legged vampire with the well-wielded smile as she approached. The closer she got the easier it was to tell he wasn't human. She might not have been able to tell without the context, but now that she knew, she could feel it. He was dressed nicely, like he'd come here from someplace better. He smelled placid but there was nothing warm about him. Not a single thing. It cooled Waverly off as she slid up onto the chair next to him.

"Hi," she said. The eye contact was a lot. She pivoted in the chair and looked at him sideways. She searched for something not stupid to say. This wasn't a pull, this wasn't a deal. This situation required someth-- she paused. The cards. There between them was the deck of cards, the backs bearing a design in glossy and matte black. She'd seen them earlier but now they rang a bell.

Virgil had said, 'The big bad vampire wagered a game of cards.'[1]

She breathed out a laugh, and explained. "Sorry, mate's got a story about making bets with vampires."

1.	28 Jan 2012 - Red Lights into Paradise [M]

He didn't speak at first, just lowering his head into a nod as the witch joined him.

Without the rest of the bar and its patrons between their bodies Terry could catch her scent better; the warm, lush fragrance of a spicy Oud lingering on her pulse points. She made an impression in her dusky blue jacket with its elaborate detailing, her carefully selected clothes. An intentional impression yes, aware of her own youth and beauty. But like many young people who entered, she didn't want to convey the naiveté of such youth.

           "Sorry," she breathed a laugh, her eyes clocking his cards, "mate's got a story about making bets with vampires."

"And lived to tell it? Clever mate." Terrence lifted the deck of cards and began shuffling, his eyes flicking up on occasion to meet hers as he spoke - quite casually, as he wasn't looking to spook the child. "We like making wagers here at Hookers. Bit of fun, innit? As long as everyone's playing by the rules."

He considered her for a moment, wondering. They got all kinds in here and he played cards with them on the regular; sometimes for blood, sometimes for coin. Not a lot of the players smelled this young - maybe the two sprogs who'd come around in December. The vampire gave the deck one more shuffle and held the pack out to her.

"Terrence," he introduced himself in a friendly, direct tone. "Cut it for me, will you luv?"

Terrence. Waverly hated herself for thinking it, but her mothers would hate this. Oh Merlin, they'd hate it. They'd hate that Waverly was charmed despite her wariness. They'd lock her up, stick her into a Ministry internship, read her the riot, they'd be in St. Mungo's for acute injuries from rolling their eyes. Waverly tilted her head and raised her eyebrows and sat in the reality of talking to a vampire. Wicked, wicked, wicked.

Virgil? Clever? Very, although from his story he just seemed lucky. Said he hadn't known if he would live or die. 'Or worse.' Waverly didn't say more about it. This wasn't about Virgil; he deserved space and peace and she deserved her own story.

Waverly uncrossed one arm enough to cut the deck, then crossed them again.

"Waverly," she said. "Nice to meet you."

She wasn't sure she wanted to start making wagers, but didn't see the harm in playing along for now. It wasn't a bet until terms were set.

Waverly didn't notice the bartender had returned until the drink was in front of her on a black cocktail napkin. Waverly pulled her coat around to retrieve a galleon from an interior pocket, then laid the coin on the table.

"Cheers." Waverly touched the rim of the stout glass and rolled it on its edge feeling its weight. The amber liquid was dark in this light, the lemon peel cut like a blade.

She cut the deck, and he shuffled one last time while Anaïs served a drink. The bartender quietly took away his own untouched glass of blood liquor - aware that the coven leader had found something else to enjoy tonight.

"Black jack," he said without prompt, dealing quickly and with flair. "I'll play you the cost of a second drink, yea?" Terry preferred a simple game of five-card draw but this was the easiest to try with new patrons; some of them strolled into Hookers without having ever played a hand of any kind of card game in their life. Everyone who worked Hookers, of course, knew a variety.

One card face down, one card face up. A king of diamonds and... he lifted the corner of his hidden card, peeking. Nine of spades. As he mulled this over, the vampire continued speaking. "Wouldn't get a third, either way. Not if you're looking to be the drink next," he met her in the eye with a smaller, less toothy smile. "I don't like the taste."

Some did. His preferences were for more subtle flavours, nothing too rich or sharp. Didn't go in for dining with humans and then dining on them later, like Vaillancourt did.

Terrence gestured at the deck, as if his presumption was a throwaway remark. "I'll pass. Hit?"

There were terms now. Waverly sat up straighter and turned the stool to angle towards Terrence more. She watched his hands and his mouth, on guard being as close to him as she was. On a normal day, she'd not give older men the time of day and their interest in her was a red flag. But this was different, she convinced herself.

She knew black jack from her last year at school, played at supper and in the commonroom over aforementioned bootleg libations. That and rummy, types of poker. A competitive streak momentarily covered over any worry. Terrence dealt and she considered the cards, but then it came.

        'I don't like the taste.'

Waverly looked up. She wouldn't have to ask after all; all she'd have to do was agree. She tried to slow her heart. They both know she wouldn't be here if she wasn't seriously considering it. She knew that she'd come with every intention.

"Deal," she said, returning his smile with a lift of her eyebrow.

The silky vampire played on and she considered her card as she took a drink. Six of clubs.

"Hit."

Ten of diamonds. She clicked her tongue. She flicked over her six of clubs with the ten revealing the bust, then took another drink.  Virgil had bet his blood, she was out some change. She had the urge to go double or nothing, but that'd be playing for a third drink which neither of them seemed to want. Waverly wanted to keep her head.

With a sigh, she went for another galleon and instead of setting it on the counter, she held it up for him.

"Fair's fair."

A thousand questions she'd never ask were lined up at her tongue. She caught another breath of Terrence's scent and suddenly imagined him close in the crook of her neck. There was nothing about Waverly that was vulnerable and this would be all but complete. That question again - how could she trust him?

The rules.

"Rules are rules," she added as much as to push for confirmation as to find some control.

He could hear it. Her heart racing.

            "Fair's fair."

Terrence plucked the gold from her hand, and the corners of his mouth twitched amusedly. Oh, she was what the Americans would call a cool customer. He fiddled with the galleon for a moment, not looking away as the gleaming coin flipped back and forth over his knuckles. Waverly was young, looked like she might be a repeat customer. For years, even, if she didn't smarten up like some of their former blood bags.

He slipped her money into the front pocket of his dinner jacket.

"Rules are," Terry leaned in just a little, not bothering to disguise the little breathe he took to savour her scent, "once you're in, you don't back out. And you don't talk to Ministry, yea? Believe me you, I'll know if you do."

When he first formed a friendship with Tristan Vaillancourt all those years ago, there was no way of knowing how useful it would prove to be. Back then the two vampires had been philosophical mates - playing wizarding chess and talking history. Nowadays Tristan walked the unholy halls of the Ministry of Magic. But they still played chess.

"First rule, though..." he leaned back, sitting straight on the stool and holding up his index finger. The smile dropped from his smooth face. "You have to tell me what it is you want, don't you? Can't have lil sprogs running off crying bout sweet ol' Hooker giving 'em what they didn't ask for in the first place, can we?"

Terrance took her gold and the little debt was paid. The game had been symbolic. A practice run. Maybe a way of shaking hands. Despite the chills that had run up her spine, it had made her feel nearly at ease. She had a drink, she'd played cards at the bar with a vampire. And then, that was that. The game through, Terrence moved them onto what she'd come for.

Waverly took a drink when he warned her not to speak to the Ministry. With both her parents employed by the two most inflexible departments, she imagined she'd be in more trouble from them than from Terrence but his warning was enough that she'd never test it.

He sat up straight and she paid close attention. The first rule.

She went cold. There was no hiding her reaction. She sat up and took a deep breath, brushed her forehead, pulled her gaze away to look out into the room. She'd avoided saying the words even to herself. A second reference without an antecedent, abstract euphemisms that could mean anything, nods without naming. Fuck.

Waverly didn't like asking questions. She didn't make requests. She didn't want people thinking she wanted anything from them and make sure there was no opportunity to be denied. This time she emptied her glass to steal some confidence, no longer under the delusion that she wasn't absolutely freaking out. She hadn't missed that he'd called himself Hooker and didn't miss that meant she was in his place. Damnit, Virgil.

She set her jaw and tapped the bar trying to put the words in her mouth. 'Just say it,' she commanded herself.

"I want you to bite me, Terrence."

It was above a whisper, a statement in full without the lift of a request.

            "I want you to bite me, Terrence."

Was that so hard to say, he wondered? Terry could tell. It wasn't the walking in here that looked hard, or even sitting down with him. Saying it - speaking the words. In that way, vampires were like the fae; you needed to say the right words, and if you weren't specific enough then you could get hoodwinked by just about anybody with fangs.

He held out his hand for hers and, after a beat, she gave it.

Hooker bowed his head over the back of the witch's hand, closing his eyes. Beneath the scent of the Oud and spices... soap, lotion... yes, the warmth, beneath the flesh, pulsing, a lovely and ripe vintage, so full of life. He pressed his lips to her skin and parted them, not quite biting, simply teasing his fangs against the delicate flesh of Waverly's knuckles.

Compared to what was going on in some of the booths, this looked very chaste indeed. And yet it was strangely intimate - especially as he opened his eyes to meet hers. Yes, she would be a nice lil treat between new moons. The vampire pulled his head back with a little lick against where he'd worried her skin.

"Where?" he asked, her hand still in his. "Here?" his thumb slid down towards her wrist to rub it, just once, and then Terry nodded at her. His gaze flicked to her slender neck. "There?" It was good to have options; he refrained from offering a more discreet spot, she was too green for that.

Still quite amused by her earlier reluctance, Terrence couldn't help himself: "And what do you want me to do when I bite you, Waverly?" he asked. "Do you want me to drink you up?"

His was ice cold, his cologne a disguise of life. She'd given her hand over not knowing what he wanted, but there was this swell of momentum that came after her ask. She regretted it immediately. Her face twisted up in disgust at his touch, a closeness she might have expected if she dared. It was wrong. He was old, he wasn't human. It wasn't what she'd asked for.

She felt held by his eyes even though his grip was light. He'd began with a zeal and interest that didn't want to be interrupted. When he paused to seek more permission, slowly she pulled her hand away, even as she did worried he wouldn't let go. That this was breaking the rule to stop now.

He did let go, and Waverly put her hand behind her neck.

"Not like that," she said quietly but firmly. "Don't do that."

She'd been holding her breath. She let it out.

"I want you to bite me and drink my blood," she said looking at him. "Leave me enough to walk out of here."

"And first," she said, forcing safe Slytherin snark into her voice, "I want a shot."

            "And first. I want a shot."

"Oo, I like this one." Anaïs, the bartender, remarked saucily, as though she'd been standing there across the bar this whole time. "Got a spine don't she?" Terry leaned against the counter and propped his head up in one hand, smiling at the other vampire. Waverly wanted the thrilling high and nothing else; Jin-ho would not have gotten very far with her even if he'd won their game of cards earlier.

It was a shame, pretty thing like her not wanting to play with other senses, but not unusual as far as their blood bags went. At least they didn't need to use the backroom tonight.

"She does," he replied and glanced back at the human with a smirk: all it took the loosen her tongue was a lick of his. "And she can speak plain when she wants to, yea? None of that coyness when push comes to shove." Or when a bite turned to something else, anyway.

Terry gestured at Anaïs, indicating the wall of liquor bottles lining the mirror behind the bar. "Get her a shot of whatever she wants," he shrugged and looked around the pub to see if there was a free corner in which to ensconce themselves later. "Nothing too strong, you know how I like 'em Ana." His dark eyes settled on a booth just now being vacated by a couple of humans on their way out.

"Come see me when you got your dutch courage going," he pushed back the stool and stood, winking at Waverly. "Don't take too long. I got a taste of you already, luv."

Terrence left off with only mild apparent disappointment and no trace that she'd pissed him off. There was that, at least. He and the bartender chatted about her like she wasn't there, but in the end what she asked for, she received. Hooker left her at the bar with lurking Ana. (Not without comment.) She felt a welling up of relief but worried that her quickly clearing head would flush it her nerve.

Waverly put her elbows on the bar and put her hands on her cheeks - cold hands, hot face. Then she lifted her eyes to Ana and asked, "firewhisky?"

Anaïs smiled and shook her head slowly. Too strong. Instead she pulled down Amaretto and poured it. Waverly took up the overly sweet liqueur and downed it all at once. She was resolved. Terrence Hooker, despite reeking of creep, could be trusted at least the length of her arm. Some might call it honor, but it seemed more like a game to them.

Considering the drink paid for by hey blackjack loss, Waverly nodded a thanks, gathered her coat, and left the bar to follow after Terrence. She felt dizzy from the booze or otherwise, maybe anticipation. She was glad for the booth, really. She realized she didn't want to be watched here.

Waverly slid into the booth and set forward on her elbows, determined not to look apologetic for staving him off. He was right; she knew how to shove.

"This is your place," she observed. "You're Hooker."